Chapter 11 - The Night of a Thousand

Dawn broke over Kinzoku no Hana like a slow wound—barely any light, barely any warmth, barely any comfort.

At the inn, the air was thick. Aika sipped bitter tea. Donyoku stared out the window, brow furrowed. Chisiki skimmed over an ancient parchment from the library, though half the symbols made no sense to him.

Reiji stood before them, arms crossed, voice sharp and calculating.

"I've heard rumors," he began. "There's an event in this city. One not meant for just anyone… A spectacle reserved for nobles, information traffickers, and those who crave power."

Chisiki looked up, eyes narrowed.

"Rumors? What kind?"

Reiji looked at each of them in turn.

"A secret gathering. They call it The Night of a Thousand Eyes. It only happens from time to time… and by sheer coincidence, it's scheduled this week."

Donyoku frowned.

"A gathering of nobles? What's so special about it?"

"They trade secrets there," Reiji explained. "Not just political or economic intel. I'm talking about truths no one should know—truths about the world, about the Shinkon… even about the origin of this kingdom."

Aika set her cup down.

"And how do you know all this?"

Reiji merely shrugged.

"Surviving means knowing when to speak and when to listen. Not all secrets are shouted. Some are whispered… just loud enough."

Chisiki averted his gaze, annoyed.

"Let me guess… you already know how to get us in, too?"

"Partially. That event includes underground fights. Participants have to register as someone's property—nobles, merchants… slaves, gladiators. Only then can they enter."

Aika sighed.

"So we're pretending to be slaves again?"

Reiji didn't answer. He just gave them a look that said: Do we have a choice?

He threw his cloak over his shoulder and walked toward the door.

"Get ready. The Night of a Thousand Eyes isn't just a tournament. It's a box of secrets, a cage of beasts. And we're walking in without knowing what's waiting to roar."

---

The streets darkened the deeper they descended into Kinzoku no Hana's lower districts. What looked like a simple weapons shop hid a trapdoor behind the counter. Down it, a damp tunnel guarded by hooded figures led to the underworld.

The air reeked of dried blood, incense, and greed.

Eventually, they stepped into a vast underground chamber lit by eerie blue torches. Stone stairways connected various levels. Bone and metal statues loomed in silence. All around, nobles in lavish cloaks laughed and drank, trailed by chained slaves, gladiators with ritual tattoos, and mercenaries bristling with weapons.

The Night of a Thousand Eyes wasn't just an event—it was its own kingdom. A theatrical hell.

People wore masks shaped like birds, gods, corpses. Others wore nothing at all—not clothes, not emotion. Tattooed bodies. Scarred bodies. Blessed. Cursed. Every glance was a bet. Every voice, a judgment. Every fight, a sacred offering.

Some beat their slaves for fun. Others dragged them by chains like rabid dogs.

"This is grotesque," Aika whispered.

"And necessary," Reiji replied coldly, without looking at her. "One of the fighters here knows where to find the Omnipresent. To reach him… we have to prove we're worthy of sin."

Aika's eyes burned with fury, but she bit her tongue. Donyoku kept his gaze low. Chisiki lowered his head, but his eyes scanned everything, alert.

"Remember," Reiji whispered, firm. "From here on out, we're prey pretending to be predators. Stay in character."

"Stop right there!" a masked registrar barked, wearing a fox's face.

Reiji stepped forward, voice arrogant and steady.

"I am Reikuro, an independent merchant. These three are my personal assets. They have no names. They don't need any."

The registrar consulted a floating tablet.

"Registering them for combat?"

"As tools," Reiji said. "I'll use what's useful. Scrap the rest."

Chisiki clenched his fists so hard that his aura flickered for a moment. Aika lightly tapped Donyoku's arm to calm him.

"Registered. You'll be escorted to the VIP observation box. The slaves go to containment."

Without another word, black-armored guards dragged them apart. Donyoku resisted for a second, but Reiji didn't even look back.

The corridors leading to the "slaves'" quarters smelled of iron and rot. Muffled screams echoed down the halls. Chisiki counted at least five eyeless figures chained to the walls. Aika could barely breathe from the stench. But they had to endure it. There was no other way in.

Meanwhile, Reiji walked past crimson curtains and golden railings. The VIP box resembled a decadent theater: exotic food, masked women dancing, and a balcony with a full view of the central arena—still empty.

Then, a sharp-voiced noble approached him, cup in hand, eyes like a beast.

"I don't recognize your face," he said with venom. "But your little dogs… I've seen them. Snooping in alleys. Following us. That's an offense, don't you think?"

Reiji didn't blink. He offered a shallow bow.

"My apologies. They're still disobedient. Not fully broken. But they've been corrected… as expected."

"Is that so?" The noble leaned in, face inches from Reiji's. "Because if either of them looks at me like a human again… I'll make you eat them. Alive."

A pause.

Reiji gave a faint smile.

"Then let's hope I'm not hungry before that."

The noble walked off with a dry laugh. Not approval—just a threat wrapped in amusement.

Reiji sat down without changing his expression. But internally, his Soukei scanned the room—every noble, every servant, every guard.

The show hadn't started yet…

But the slaughterhouse was about to raise its curtains.

A metallic clang shook the bars.

The arena lit up with black flames.

The nobles roared from above like well-dressed beasts. A distorted voice echoed from a masked announcer, amplified by a Soukei:

A gong rang out. The announcer, wearing a grinning mask and dark robes, lifted his arms.

"Welcome… to another Night of a Thousand Eyes!

Where blood sings, secrets die, and weapons breathe!"

The crowd erupted like whips cracking. In the center, two fighters were already engaged—one manipulating invisible threads, the other sprouting spikes from his flesh like feral creatures.

From her cell, Aika swallowed hard. She was alone. Her cloak was gone. They'd dressed her in a rough tunic like the other slaves. Chisiki and Donyoku had been taken elsewhere. Beyond the bars, a boy no older than twelve hugged a broken spear, sobbing.

"First round. No rules. No mercy. The favorite of the organ traders!

Aika, unranked slave… versus Tamon, the Bull of Sabaku!"

The gate opened.

A massive man stormed in, chest covered in scars and metal horns grafted to his skull. Steam hissed from his nostrils like a living furnace. His Shinkon turned his skin to rusted iron.

Aika's knees buckled. She wasn't a fighter.

And then… she felt it.

Kagenami.

Her Shinkon.

A presence like perfume seeping through her skin and soul. Elegant. Cold. Unshakable.

"Lend me your body. I'll handle the rest."

Aika nodded. But deep down, a voice screamed:

How far into me does he reach? And when will he stop pretending he's on my side?

From the balcony, Reiji narrowed his eyes.

"A good start," he muttered, masking tension behind a sip of wine.

Aika dodged the first blow with unnatural grace, spinning like silk in the wind. Tamon's axe smashed the ground. In a blink, she was behind him.

A dagger dropped from her sleeve—not hers, but Kagenami's—and went straight for the colossus' back.

But Tamon roared. His Shinkon exploded in a cloud of steam. Aika was blasted back.

She landed, rolling—like a cat. But it wasn't her doing.

Some nobles clapped from above.

"Looks like this bitch knows how to dance."

Kagenami didn't speak. He moved her like a scalpel. Aika became the blade of a mind not her own.

It wasn't a fight.

It was an execution in shadows.

Three minutes later, Aika stood over Tamon's broken body. Her chest heaved. Her veins burned. Her skin dripped with blood that wasn't hers.

The crowd roared.

But Aika didn't raise her arms.

Kagenami slid out of her like a kiss goodbye.

She breathed in spasms. She didn't cry—not because she didn't want to… but because she didn't know how. Her hands were soaked with a life that wasn't hers, and her gut hollowed with something she couldn't name.

Donyoku clenched his fists. Not out of fear—but because he couldn't shatter the bars with pure rage.

Chisiki gritted his teeth.

"So this… is the cost of knowledge."

"A surprising favorite!" the announcer bellowed. "The unranked slave has the soul of a hunter!"

Aika was dragged off to another cell. But before she disappeared, she felt it—a cold gaze.

Not from the crowd. From above.

In some dark corner, hidden in rock and shadow, a hooded figure closed a notebook… and vanished.

Enma, without anyone knowing, had been watching them.

---

Parallel Battles:

In other sections of the coliseum, the fights were even more brutal.

A warrior with a Shinkon of thorns that sprouted when wounded was disemboweling a soulless woman who kept fighting even after being decapitated.

Another, a chained child, used only his reflexes and a rock to evade the attacks of a mutated beast whose Shinkon distorted its body with every strike.

In a side arena, a frozen slave —with empty eyes and bluish skin— was slowly freezing his opponent just by getting close. They called him Yukito, "the corpse that breathes." No one knew if he was still alive or guided by an ancient will.

From his VIP box, Reiji watched every scene. Every scream. Every Shinkon.

"This city is rotten," he whispered. "But here... lies the truth."

The VIP booth smelled of thick incense and expensive tobacco. Reiji didn't feel comfortable, but he maintained the mask of indifference expected by the nobility. Adaptation was necessary.

A harsh voice interrupted his observation:

"Can I sit here, or do real nobles need the whole bench for their ego?"

Reiji turned his head slightly, barely tilting his glass. In front of him stood a man around forty, in a disheveled black robe, with eyes like fireless embers. He wore a slaver's ring but no noble family insignia.

Beside him, a pale young man with a neutral expression followed him like a shadow. His white hair reached his jawline, and his left arm was chained... yet he walked with dignity.

"Of course, there's plenty of space," Reiji replied, smiling politely.

"Thanks. Few nobles know how to be so... hospitable." The man sat down with a grunt and stretched his legs as if he were in a tavern. "Name's Bokusatsu, though I'm known by other names not worth repeating. He's… well, legally my slave, but we don't pretend to be what we're not."

The young man gave a slight bow.

"Seimei. A pleasure."

"A master who gives no orders and a slave who obeys none?" Reiji said, tilting his head with curiosity.

Bokusatsu laughed —a deep sound, like the echo of an empty cave.

"In this place, every role is a mask. Only the scars are real."

Reiji didn't reply immediately. He analyzed their posture, their nonverbal cues. They acted neither as enemies… nor as friends.

Like two men who shared a purpose.

"What brought you here?"

Seimei lowered his gaze. Bokusatsu was the one who answered.

"He wants to know what happened at the Nibanku Frontier —that piece of the world neither gods nor kings dare to touch. His village vanished. Not destroyed... vanished. No remains. No souls. No history."

Reiji felt a chill. He knew well what it meant for something to be erased from the map... even from collective memory.

"And you?"

Bokusatsu smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Revenge. Nothing glorious, but very... motivating. I was told the Night of a Thousand Gazes grants audience with someone who can reveal any secret. If that person truly is the Omnipresent... then they have something I need."

"And do you think you can win?" Reiji asked, without judgment.

"Does it matter?" Seimei replied softly. "As long as we live... we fight."

Silence.

The roar of another battle briefly interrupted the conversation. In a side arena, a legless slave slit the throats of three opponents at once, using only his mouth and the Soukei embedded in his tongue. The audience went wild.

"And you?" Bokusatsu asked, watching Reiji more intently. "What's someone like you looking for in a place like this?"

Reiji thought of Enma, of the library, of the secrets buried in the ruins of the Kingdom of Hokori… and of the promise he once made.

"Something only the forbidden world seems to guard so jealously: truth."

The three men fell silent.

As if, without saying it, they understood they had crossed the line of formalities. And now… they walked the same edge.

From above, in a gallery veiled behind a curtain of purple smoke, Enma watched them. Expressionless. Without judgment.

A faint smile crept onto his lips.

"Interesting choices, Reiji," he murmured to himself, jotting something down on an old parchment. "The game is beginning to take shape."

In a place where masks dictate truth and pain is applauded as art, broken paths began to intertwine... not by fate, but by necessity.

Thank you for reading this chapter of Chi no Yakusoku.

If you enjoyed it, don't forget to follow for the next step in this dark blood oath.